A Clingy Boy Pursuing a Cute Boy for 15 Years
by Hydra no Mago
Summary: Levi sighed. "These poems of love for you, I've been writing them for 15 years." Based on the popular Vocaloid song "A Clingy Boy for 15 years". LeviXEren fic with romance and angst. Bon appetite!
1. Year 1

**Helloooooo everyone~! This Riren fic will be based off of the ever-popular song "15 Years Pursuing A Cute Boy" by Hatsune Miku and "Clingy for 15 Years" by VY2/Yuuma from Vocaloid.**

**::| I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin or the song. |::**

**The story will be mostly written in Levi's POV.**

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Chapter 1 - Year One

**_These poems written of my love for you,  
_**

**_I've been sending them for 15 years straight._**

**_As always there is no reply,_**

**_And still there is no reply. _**

The pencil was blunt again. The pens that lay beside me have all run out of ink. Again. A pile of papers were crumpled up and waited to be recycled properly in the waste bin. My fingers were stiff and my wrist hurt from the exertion. My neck was stretched and tired, my butt was sore from sitting too long. I blinked a few times to refocus my blurry eyes but to no avail.

Reluctantly, I pushed myself out of my swivel chair and gave my back a good, long stretch. A yawn escaped my lips without myself noticing. I popped my fingers back into place as well as my neck. What I needed was a good cup of coffee. Definitely.

Running a hand through my dark hair, I made my way towards the kitchen. As always, I checked the cleanliness of the house as I passed by the various rooms. Not a vase out of place, not a picture crooked, no dirt on the floor and not a speck of dust to be found. It was pristine, just the way I liked it.

The coffee maker was set on, inside a brew of Fazenda Santa Innes. The coffee beans cost an arm and a leg but the brew left a very pleasant taste in my mouth. Suddenly I am reminded of you, when you wanted to taste my coffee and kissed me, the strong taste of coffee lingering as our tongues collided. I shook the thoughts away, not wanting to have them invade my peace. The kitchen counter had been swiped down, spotless, sparkling under the sun. And I am reminded of you again. How you made a mess when you ate like a pig, how you never cleaned up thoroughly afterwards, leaving crumbs here and there. How you always apologised after.

I took the last drag of my bitter coffee. The warm, brown liquid slid down my throat nice and easily, caffeine kicking into my systems. I felt energized already. Droplets of cold water splashed onto the hem of my shirt and I clicked my tongue in annoyance. I continued washing the mug.

~.~.~.~

The pencil had been sharpened. The pens were either refilled or replaced with new ones. The pile of papers had been neatly stacked in a box, ready to be recycled. A new stack of papers sat by the pens, ready to be used.

I snapped my fingers once more before I took a piece of paper from the stack and a pen. I tapped the pen on my chin for a few moments before I let all my emotions flow out to to you. The words formed themselves on the white canvas, creating curiosity, hope and love. The pen moved rapidly, inking the paper as a tattooist would ink his client's skin.

~.~.~.~

The white envelope went slid in without a hitch. I had made sure to affix the stamp carefully, applying glue on it for safe measures. The red post box stood before me, mocking me.

It told me that I was pathetic. It told me that I was the worst of the worst. It told me that I should get up and meet my lover instead of sending him letters of love.

I told the post box that it was pathetic. I told the post box that it was the dirtiest of the dirtiest. I told the post box that it couldn't get up to meet its lover, because it didn't have one.

Angrily, I put on my poker face and walked back home. I had no need to stand there all day conversing with a mere post box.

Yet the thought of you receiving my letter managed to pull the corners of my lips upwards.

**_The first year I was a bit reckless,_**

**_I wrote everyday without fail to you._**

**_I always licked the stamps with no rest,_**

**_Sending you my heart's "spit"._**

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**Thank you for reading! I hoped that you have enjoyed this chapter. Any thoughts on this and should I continue writing?**

**PS: If you like this, please check out my other SnK fanfics as well!**


	2. Year 2

**Hi everyone and I'm back! Thank you all for reading and following, even favouriting this story!  
Special thanks to 9haharharley1 for asking me to continue!**

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Chapter 2 – Year Two

_These poems written of my love to you,_

_I've been sending them for 15 years straight._

_As always there is no reply,_

_And still there is no reply. _

I linked my fingers together and brought them above my head, stretching my arms and back. The alarm clock was finally snoozed off when I smacked the button. It was a Sunday morning, my supposed day for resting after a week of hard work.

Not that I had much work to do in the first place.

To be perfectly honest, I hate my job. I hate my job everyday, every hour, every minute, every second of my life. But I can't just say "Hey, I quit." and expect everything to go well. It is the ugly truth that no one can survive without money in this world. Money is everything. It provides a roof over your head, warm meals, comfort. Heck, money can even buy you a partner. It can buy you a husband, a wife, children.

What money can't buy is love.

And love was what I felt when I first met you. It still is what I feel for you. No matter how much time passes and you still don't answer any of my letters.

I slipped into my slippers as I got out of bed. I wondered briefly how I was going to spend my day, but I already knew the answer. I was going to clean, read, eat, rest, watch the idiot box for a while and write you another letter.

After splashing some cold water on my face to wake me up 100%, I shuffled to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. I could make my bed later, I could go jogging later. Only after I got my hot cup of coffee. I swear, coffee is the only thing that keeps the working class alive every morning. That, and alcohol at night.

I scooped some Blue Mountain beans into the machine and added boiling water. The small red light was turned on, signalling the beginning of the coffee-making process. Water was passed through the small nozzle, into the filter with coffee beans. The result? A dark, brownish liquid formed at the base of the pot.

Maybe I'll go jogging after this.

_Grooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwlllllllllllllllll_

Or maybe not.

I patted my food tank, more than aware that I was hungry as hell. I rummaged around the fridge in search of some good food. I found a lemon at the very back, some vegetable oil, thousand island sauce, a small container of leftover soup, some lettuce and parsley, several bottles of mineral water and a can of coke. I really need to go grocery shopping after this.

I decided to heat up the leftover soup for a light breakfast, since there wasn't anything edible in the fridge at this time. I dumped all the contents into a pot and flicked on the gas stove. I wanted an electrical one, so I didn't have to have the fumes in my house, but you used to prevent me from buying one. Something about 'old is gold' was the excuse you always used and it always worked.

You have moved away now, yet I still can't seem to rid my thoughts of you. It is more than apparent that I still love you from every fibre of my soul, and it is more than apparent that you are ignoring me. It is also more than apparent that I don't give up easily.

The soup was boiling over nicely, so I left to advance to my study, which is basically a small room filled with nothing but useless documents. I spun around in my old swivel chair. Now this was something you asked me to buy a new one. The chair was falling apart and you cringed every time you saw it. I thought your face looked cute when you did that, so I never got a new one.

Picking up a pen and swiping an unused piece of paper from my stack of files, I began to pen the thoughts I had about you. The flow today however, was a tad obstructed. What should I write about? I'm sure you're bored of reading the same old things over and over again, so what fresh words and ideas may I use this time?

A smell wafted up to my nostrils. It was the smell of something burning, I supposed. I bet it was the soup but I paid no attention to it. My mind refused to move smoothly this time and I wanted, no, needed to write a letter to you. I racked my brain for something, anything that I could write to you.

After what I presumed to be a few minutes later, I removed my hands from the scalp of my head and began to write. The ideas were slowly coming back now, words flowing from the tip of my pen. The paper was being inked, a white surface dirtied.

Was it just me or has the heat been turned up? I'll have to go check later.

I continued writing and writing, letting all my feelings flow freely, without boundaries. I was reaching the end of my paper, the white space almost gone. As I scratched out my last word, I heard a shrill scream.

I snapped my head up so fast I almost broke my neck. A woman was standing on the pavement, about 70 years old, and she was screaming at me. The first question that came to my mind was, of course, why the hell was she screaming at me? The second one was, how can I see through walls?

The third, what in the world happened to all my clothes and my house?

There was black smoke and dust everywhere, and my house had undoubtedly been burnt down. Seriously. Almost nothing was left, except for a couch or two, some kitchen appliances and the desk and chair that I was using. Oh, and my paper of course. The small room was protected from the hungry flames and I could only hope that the fire didn't spread too far.

The woman was gone now, screaming that I was a pervert. I narrowed my eyes into the direction where she had ran off to, hating her already. I looked down to inspect myself. Yes, my clothes had been burnt, and only the collar of my shirt was left.

I didn't feel the need to cover up my body. I just needed a cup of coffee. And some breakfast. And a new house.

_The second year I was still too reckless,_

_My house was set on fire and it did not bother me._

_In fact from below my clothes had caught fire,_

_And by the time I noticed, only the collar was left._

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**And that's a wrap for the second chapter.  
Thank you to all who read this and I hope you enjoyed it!  
Please check out my other stories if you think this one is good too! **

**I'll try to update more often and I'll make a twist to this story. So don't exactly expect it to go according to the song. **


	3. Year 3

**Here's an early chapter for everyone! Thank you for your support!  
Thanks to Kikisan333 for reviewing!**

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Chapter 3 – Year 3

_These poems written of my love to you,_

_I've been sending them for 15 years straight._

_As always there is no reply,_

_And still there is no reply. _

_Ding!_

There it goes again. I sometimes wish that the infernal thing would just disappear from my sight forever.

_Ding!_

But thanks to that infernal thing, more and more people have come to read my poems. Deny all I want, their words and comments do encourage me to write more.

_Ding! _

Oh, for crying out loud...

_Ding! _

I get it, I get it. I'm coming already!

I turned around in my new swivel chair, a sleek black one with a wire mesh, soft cushion, bouncy spring, and soft arm rests. I came face to face with my new laptop, a MacBook Pro that Hanji insisted I get for myself. I have to say, her choice wasn't bad at all. Compared to my old Dell, this one works faster and better.

I scrolled through the page using, maneuvering my fingers on the sensitive touch pad. I enlarged some of the comments on screen and began to swiftly read through them.

"_Oh mi god, this is so touching!"_

"_Dude, you are an awesome poet! XD"_

"_I wish my boyfriend could write like that."_

"_I can't believe it, the feels... ;A;" _

"_MARRY ME!"_

I grimaced at the last comment. It wasn't the first time that people had commented like that, yet it never failed to send goosebumps down my spine. Even after all these years, I am still unsociable. Even after all these years, the one I want to marry is you, and only you. I don't care what people will say, I just want you to be mine. Only mine.

However, I can't do that now, can't I?

You're not here with me, you have gone off to some far-off place. You have gone to somewhere else and I can't reach you. I fear for you, every day of my life. I worry about you, I care for you.

I love you.

I stood up, walked around the house and examined my surroundings. The house was new, not a very grand one but useful nonetheless. It keeps the wind, rain and sun out. My old home had been burnt a year ago, after my very embarrassing accident.

How did I set my house on fire by heating up some leftover soup, I will never know.

And perhaps it is better to not know. Some things in this world are better to be left unsaid. Maybe your love confession was one of them.

If you hadn't confessed, I would not be pacing then house like I am right now, heart aching when I think about you. Yet if you hadn't confessed to me, we would both be still struggling with our feelings, not knowing how to act around the other. If you hadn't confessed, I would not go through all the good times with you and I would not have experienced a feeling called "Love".

But you had confessed, we had had our good times together, we had loved each other and you have broken my heart.

You have broken it into tiny pieces which were carried away by the wind.

And I still love you.

I have always loved you.

I walked back into my new study with light grey walls and minimal decorations. It had steel shelves which Irvin sent to me as a Christmas present last year. They were sturdy and modern. Nice. At the window sill right in front of my new oak desk, there stood a potted plant. A potted dandelion actually. I have no idea why I keep it, except maybe that it reminds me of you.

_Ding! _

And there goes that friggin machine again...

I plopped myself down, swiping the trackpad. The notification alerted me of the number of followers I had at the moment. What I saw didn't really surprise me though.

My account had been maxed out.

_During my third year I had calmed down,_

_My mind had reached the limits of literature. _

_I had published my Mixi* Journal, _

_and my Mixi had been completely maxed out._

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**Note:**

*** ****M****ixi (****ミクシィ ****mikushī, stylized as mixi) is an online Japanese social networking service. It was founded in 2004 and is owned by Mixi, Inc.**

**Thank you so much for reading this fic! Please look forward to more chapters soon!**

**PS: Check out my other fics too if you have enjoyed this one.**

**Until then, ja nae!**


	4. Year 4

**And here's another chapter everyone! I was kinda free so I whipped up this chappy for you guys!  
Thanks to 9haharharley1 and survivedfromheaven for the lovely reviews!**

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Chapter 4 – Year 4

_These poems written of my love to you,_

_I've been sending them for 15 years straight. _

_As always there is no reply,_

_And still there is no reply. _

Do you know what's a salaryman?

No, I bet you don't.

So allow me the liberty of explaining:

A salaryman is someone whose income is salary based, particularly those working for corporations. It is also know as "white-collared businessman". In modern terms, a salaryman can mean of long working hours, low prestige in corporate hierarchy and absence of significant sources of income other than salary and karoshi*.

That is precisely what I feel like.

I hate to admit it, but I am a salaryman, A pathetic man who sits in a small, white cubicle all day doing nothing but paperwork. The job itself allows no freedom, no exclusive rights and only a minimal wage.

Frankly, I hate this job.

I know you've told me to get a better job before. I was worried about the pay but you told me that it was going to be fine. You told me that it was okay if I didn't earn enough money for the first few months, I would always be able to find a way to make things alright.

But I was afraid. I was afraid of losing a job permanently and ending up on the streets again. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to support you. I was afraid that you would walk out on me if I was broke.

It's true, you're gone. You just up and left one day without giving me any warning, not even a subtle one. The previous day you were still smiling that bright smile of yours, the way your jade eyes twinkled. And the next, you just left. Not even a goodbye.

I was sad, of course. I was also mad at myself. I kept on asking myself, why did I let you go? What didn't I see? What did I miss in all those years we spent together? Have you gotten bored of me? Did you hate me? Do you still hate me?

These questions swirled in my head, replaying themselves over and over again, attacking me like an angry bee. As they once again resurfaced in my mind, I picked up my pen and a piece of paper and began to write.

I didn't care if I was using my time for work to pen a poem to you. I had no care for my job anyway. Maybe I should publish this to my Mixi again? Sounds about right.

Using the corporate's computer, I hacked into my workplace's wifi and surfed the net. I logged in to my Mixi and began to type and upload my newest compilation. As usual, my followers have maxed out and they have even created a fan club. I clicked on a blinking button with my name on it. Okay, make that two fan clubs.

As I was waiting for the upload to finish, something caught my eye. It was a small ad located at the bottom right of the screen. An ad for a poet who would like to write for a magazine. I raised my brow in interest as I checked out the company.

It was a modest company, and the poet who wrote for them would receive a good pay for every one of his works. The staff must be desperate if they were giving out 2550 yen for every piece. Clicking on the home page, I decided to give it a try and submit my latest poem.

No harm done.

~.~.~.~

No harm done indeed.

Two months have pass since I submitted my first poem to the magazine and my pay was much higher. The magazine staff not only accepted my poem, they hired me to be their official poet. Other than that, I also branched out into social issues with some of my poems, earning more fans and more publicity.

The boss of the magazine company was a sweet girl named Petra. She was younger than me and much more chirpier. With soft honey hair and the same coloured eyes, I might have fallen for her if I didn't love you.

Her assistant is a man named Erd and a man named Auroro seemed to worship me. Gunther worked as our editor and Mike was in charge of the printing office. A boy your age called Nanaba works as the mail boy.

Compared to working as a salaryman, I liked this job better.

So, I quit my old job.

Yes, you heard that right. I quit. Of course, my boss Keith was not too fond of it. Known for his military-like rule and unreasonableness, Keith was not a force to be messed with. Well, neither was I.

He reprimanded me for quitting my job so easily, blaming me for leaving the company. I was sure he was afraid of losing more workers. I let him rant and rage for a good fifteen minutes before I promptly reached over, tore off his wig and wore it on my head. I then walked out of the office with a shouting Keith behind me.

When I finally got out of that old and musty building, I tossed the wig into a nearby trashcan and wiped my hand on a wet tissue. Who knows what kind of lice and dandruff was in there?

_In the fourth year I wrote for a magazine, _

_And I had branched out into social issues._

_I released a compilation of poems,_

_And I had quit being a salaryman._

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**Note: **

*** Karoshi = Death from overwork**

**Thank you for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this chapter!  
Please check out my other works if you liked this one!  
Also, if you have any ideas or suggestions to make, please don't hesitate to post them as a review. **


	5. Year 5

**And I'm back again everyone! Here's another chapter for you guys! **

**I had time to write more this weekend because of the lack of homework, so hooray! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin, but I do own this story. **

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Chapter 5 – Year 5

_These poems written of my love to you,  
I've been sending them for 15 years straight._

_As always there is no reply,_

_And still there is no reply. _

I never liked the idea of getting my picture taken. I hated posing which made my arms ache, I hated the false smiles that I had to put on, I hated the flashes which always blinded me.

Now I wish I had taken more pictures with you. You were always wearing that natural smile of yours, genuinely happy. Your poses were light-hearted and relaxed, your eyes were almost always closed as you smiled.

You were the perfect model. My Apollo. My bright and blazing sun.

To you, I was probably Artemis (not that I am a girl and not that we are siblings). I was cold, unsociable, distant. Yet you never gave up on me. You continued reaching out for me, even when I turned away.

And now, it is my turn to reach out for you. I can only hope that the poems you read might move you.

I blinked as someone knocked on the cheap wooden door. "Levi-san, you have 30 seconds!" came the voice. I sighed as I looked at the mirror again. I had slicked my hair and parted it the way I always do, my lips were pressed into a thin line and my grey-blue eyes were as sharp as ever. I tried to lift the corners of my lips, but it turned out wrong, making me look grotesque.

I gave up. I never knew how to smile in front of others. Perhaps it had been moulded into my genes or it was a curse upon me. Only in your presence did I feel comfortable in letting my defences down. Only when you were there, did I smile.

Straightening my tie, I took one last look at the mirror. Showtime. I pushed the font doors open to reveal hoards of people, squealing and shouting my name. These people were my fans, the ones who adored my poems. My poems written of my love to you.

Walking in long strides, I made my way to a table which had been set up in the room. People had already lined up neatly over there, had been waiting for my arrival. As I sat down on the hard plastic chair, I could see some of them craning their necks, trying to get a better look at me. I sat up straighter and began to sign my name on notebooks, magazines or even human arms. One of the men even asked me to sign his bald head.

I did not even try to smile this time, knowing it will look bad. Neither did my fans seem to care. The only thing they wanted was my signature and maybe talk one sentence to me and have me reply.

Most of my so-called "fans" were of the fairer race, ranging from twenty to thirty-four. There were male fans, but not as much. Little did they know that all my poems were meant for you, a young boy.

Well, not so young anymore. It has been five years since you walked out on me. Since you walked out on our life.

I signed another book, my arm getting tired. Seriously, how many people were there? I peeked over to see the huge crowd. Groaning inwardly, I gulped down some water from the glass that stood next to my pen.

The next girl who asked for my signature was really a looker. Soft blonde hair and big baby blue eyes, she was around eighteen. She was petite and her taste in clothes was not bad either. She produced a magazine (the one which I work for) from her small bag and shyly asked me to sign it. I asked for her name in which she replied "Christa". It was a very sweet name, so I saw no reason why I should not tell her that. She was blushing like a cherry after my comment and quickly thanked me.

I say, even though these girls are all young and talented, beautiful and pretty, none of them could hold a candle to you. No one could compare to your jade eyes which sometimes turned emerald in the sun, your tan and soft skin, your beautiful smile and your addictive laugh.

No one could ever replace you.

_By the fifth year I was a pro at poetry, _

_I had captivated women from 20 to 34._

_But because I was so earnest,_

_I saw the other girls only as inexperienced pansies._

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**That's the end of the fifth chapter. I hoped you have enjoyed reading this!**

**I will be a little late on updating next week, so please consider this as an early weekly chapter.  
Please check out my other stories if you have like this!**

**Adios, amigos! Until next week!**


	6. Year 6

Chapter 6 – Year Six

**Hi there! I'm back with a brand new chapter, sorry for the wait!  
I'm telling you, school sucks most of the time. **

**Rating went up because of the cursing. **

**Thanks to SweetMelloJello and 3phriam for your reviews!**

* * *

_These poems written of my love to you,_

_I've been sending them for 15 years straight. _

_As always there is no reply, _

_And still there is no reply. _

The smell in the air was not a pleasant one in the slightest. It was the heavy smell of medicine, of disinfectant. I looked around the bright room with white walls. They were too stark for my liking, but when did a mere poet had a say in what colour paint a hospital should use?

I sneaked a peek at my crooked finger. It probably was broken, the bones either snapped or shattered. I gingerly touched it and almost immediately, a searing pain went up to my arm. Hissing, I laid my left hand back onto the hard white bed, waiting for my doctor.

This isn't the first time it has happened.

This isn't the first time that my finger was broken due to some sort of accident or another.

The hinges of the white door squeaked noisily, alerting me of someone's arrival. Humming was heard and Hanji waltz into the white room, scans of my finger clipped under her right arm.

"You really need to oil that door, shitty-glasses."

Hanji turned her whole attention to me and gave me one of her disgustingly huge grins. "Too busy, too busy~!" she said and waved my statement from the air. "Besides, you know I'm not too good with doors!"

At that, I smirked. I could clearly recall the time when I had successfully made Hanji oil her own door (with the help of Irvin of course). She was clumsy and didn't know how to do a thing. In the end, she splashed grease all over her living room and everything was covered in the oily substance except the silver hinges of her squeaky door.

I wonder how she ever managed to become one of the most amazing general surgeons in this country.

The cerise-haired doctor must have caught my smirk because she pouted like a child. Of course, her pout was nowhere as cute as yours. Whenever I denied you something, like the time you wanted to buy a kite when we were living in the middle of the city, you would pout. Your cheeks will puff up and your lips would jut out, jade eyes dulled with the presence of tears.

In the end, I always got you what you wanted, no matter how useless or ridiculous it was. In the end, I always chastised myself for pampering you too much. In the end, I always got to see you smile that brilliant smile of yours. In the end, I would tell myself that it was all worth it.

"... and I think you might need a longer time to heal than the last time, but...Hey, are you listening to me, Levi?"

I snapped back into reality as I heard Hanji call my name. She had this worried expression on her face, her eyebrows furrowed. Hanji might be eccentric at best, but she also acted like a mother hen when it came to her friends' well-beings. She would fuss over us, feeding us medications and making all of us feel better again.

And for that, I was thankful. When you walked out the door and left me behind, I had no one. I would have ruined myself by not eating and sleeping if it had not been for Hanji and Irvin. They were mainly the ones who helped me got back onto my feet again.

"Yeah, I'm listening." I rubbed my eyebrow tiredly.

Deciding to leave me alone and not pry, she set to work, telling me that my left finger would need more time to heal than usual, because my bones were smashed up pretty badly. I nodded at everything she said, not fully comprehending anything as my thoughts kept on floating back to you.

"So what happened this time?" asked Hanji as casually as she could. She was carefully wrapping my index finger with scratchy bandages.

I lolled my head to the side, looking as her deft fingers made short work of the bandage. I sighed. "Some idiots didn't like what I wrote about their politics group. So the fuckers came to me in a fucking big group and fucking beat me up."

"So you were royally fucked?"

"Yeah..."

She seemed to take this into consideration and inclined her head. It was peaceful for a few seconds. "How long has it been since you got laid?"

Her question sent me out of my stupor, yet I was sure no real expression appeared in my face. "Why the fuck would you want to know, shitty-glasses?"

"I dunno~" she replied innocently. "You're kind of tense lately. Always getting into more trouble that you can stack on your plate."

I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could. The truth was, I was always agitated these days. It had been six long years since I last saw you. Six years was a long time. And in these six years, I have never stopped thinking about you.

"You jerk yourself off while thinking about you-know-who?" the doctor with glasses wagged her eyebrows suggestively at me.

I wanted to slap that look off her face so bad. "You have no subtlety." I sighed once more. "And he has a name. Not you-know-who."

At this, Hanji gave out a hearty laugh. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "True, on both accounts~!"

"Anyway, shouldn't you be worrying about your husband?" I asked. I didn't like the spotlight on me all the time.

Hanji leant back in her swivel chair and made a 'Pffftttt' sound. "Moblit? When the hell did you start caring about Moblit?"

"Ever since you pried into my sexual life."

"Wow, that's a fast answer~!" She spun around in circles for a while, making all who look at her feel dizzy. She came to a stop on her tenth spin or so, a solemn look on her face. "He's still the same. Ever since he lost his job, he's been really depressed."

"He did anything to you?" Hanji was my friend, and if Moblit dared to lay a hand on her...

"Nah~! He's more timid when he's sober, but not a wild one when he's drunk." She tilted her head. "A complete asshole though!"

I chuckled lightly. "Well, not as big of an asshole as I am."

The doctor regained her smile. "Yep~! Not as bad as you are!"

We talked about more mindless things for a while. Because of her job, I rarely saw Hanji around. She was on call 24/7 at the hospital. When we were younger, in our school and university years, Hanji would barge into my room with Irvin in tow, the two drove me up the wall. I wished that they would stop coming into my life without my permission.

Now I wished that they would. Sad to say, I was lonely.

I thanked her and she told me to take care of myself better.

"Don't always come to the hospital, Levi. I'll get sick of looking at you." With that she pulled her disgusted face for a dramatic effect.

I paused at the doorway, turning my head to face her. "Oh please, you know I look too good for you."

I left the white building with the sound of Hanji laughing like a maniac behind me.

_By the sixth year my body was ruined,_

_I'd already wrote over 2,000 poems._

_Not a bone hadn't been broken,_

_Not an organ had escaped damage._

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**Phew, this went longer than expected. Please fav and/review! They motivate me to churn out more stories. **

**Until next week!**


	7. Year 7

Chapter 7 – Year 7

_These poems written of my love to you,_

_I've been sending them for 15 years straight._

_As always there is no reply,_

_And still there is no reply. _

"What do you want?" I snapped into the phone. It was three in the fuckin' morning and I wanted to sleep. Not that I could sleep very well but I needed my rest. I bet that I was going to have panda eyes tomorrow.

You always laughed like crazy when I looked like that. Said that I made the grumpiest looking panda in the history of pandas. You would clutch your stomach, complained that it hurt and continue laughing. Your sweet and energetic laughter could be heard all over the house, echoing off the stone cold walls. And I would laugh with you.

"Levi? Are you there?' called Irvin from the other end.

I sighed loudly into the receiver, making it clear that I didn't like to be woken up at this time of the day. Nor any time of the day. "Yes, I'm still here knucklehead. What the hell do you want?"

Shifting noises from the other end and a scream. Probably from a child. "I need your help. Badly." He sounded desperate. Irvin never sounds desperate unless it was an emergency.

I sat up straighter in the wooden chair I was occupying. "Whose kid is that?"

A slight pause. "It's Vanessa's."

"My god, that brat again?" I slapped my hand on to my forehead, shielding my eyes. "Why do you even agree to babysit for that woman?"

"Levi, it's my kid too." he sounded tired. Beat-up. "I know that I'm giving in, I know that I'm not standing up for myself. But please, help my kid."

After much grumbling from yours truly later, I finally agreed. "Fine. But wake Hanji up too. I'm not taking care of a kid without a doctor in the house, no matter how shitty said doctor is."

I could practically hear him smiling from the other end. "Thanks, Levi."

"Don't fucking thank me yet." I slammed the receiver back into place and rubbed my face. This was going to be one hell of a long night.

The story of Irvin's love life was never pretty. He was handsome and rich, any girl would fall for him. He had the pick of the litter. But he only ever really liked one girl. Her name is Vanessa(that bitch). She was an average looking girl. Had a different hair colour almost every week. She liked to splurge on fancy things and make-up. So much so that she bled Irvin dry. Hanji and I (shitty-glasses got some sense) told him to break up with her since day one. He never listened.

Hell, they even got married. I don't understand what he sees in her, but hey, I'm not in a place to judge. I mean, I fell for you didn't I? Though we are both guys and we are total opposites, I fell for you. You and no one else. And until this day, I can't explain why I fell so hard for you.

Maybe that's the case with Irvin. He just fell for the girl(bitch). They had a child in their second year of marriage. The boy is named Richard. Thank the gods Irvin didn't let that bitch choose a name. She might have chose something idiotic like 'Cashmere' or 'Gucci' or 'Louis Vitton' or some shit.

I don't exactly know what the fuck happened between the two, but I'm glad it did. Irvin finally woke up with enough sense to divorce that snarky little piece of shit. The only problem was the child. Irvin makes a good dad, I'm not biased on this. He may seem stoic most of the time, cold and calculating, but he adores children. Every time he sees a child, it brings out this soft side of him. Though my soft side is reserved only for you. Court happened, shitty jury happened, stupid judge happened. Custody was given to that bitch.

I knocked on the door lightly. I didn't want to be the one responsible if the baby woke up. Silence and I rapped the door harder this time. Was Irvin asleep?

"Waaaaaahhhh! Waaaaahhhh!"

I guess not.

The heavy wooden door opened to reveal a sleep deprived Irvin and a crying kid. "Oh Levi, you're here. Do come in."

I kicked off my shoes at the doorway and stepped inside. Irvin lived modestly, a small house big enough for a small family. Yep, that's modest enough. The inside furnishings were worn with age and time, giving the place a comfy feel.

And the damn kid was still crying.

"Is he hungry or something?"

"No, he's not. Won't even drink a drop of water like this." Irvin was trying his best to balance the two year old on his arm as he closed the door. He did a pretty good job. "Hanji's going to check if he has a fever."

My eyes popped open. "She's here already?"

"Yeah. Said she was in the neighbourhood so she stopped by."

Something about that sounded fishy. Who in their right minds would be in a neighbourhood on the other side of town at three a.m.? Hanji was never in her right mind, but this was a bit extreme.

"Oh look who's here! It's Mr. Sunshine!" Hanji clapped her hands in front of the kid, making a joke out of me.

I clicked my tongue. "Fuck off shitty-glasses."

"Language, Levi. Language." warned the over-protective father.

"Like hell the brat knows what I'm saying." Brat. It was nostalgic. It was the way I used to call you.

Hanji rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "Actually, he does."

"How in the world would you know?"

"Uh... Cause he said a few things just now..."

My eyebrows raised. "The brat cursed?"

"Please stop and just help find out what's wrong with my kid."

Hanji did all her tests while Irvin sat there nursing a cup of coffee. I crossed my legs and played Candy Crush on my phone to pass the time. How do you get pass that stupid owl anyway? It's in my way.

"Looks like he's okay. No diseases whatsoever." Hanji handed the kid back to Irvin.

He was quieter now, and his eyelids were drooping. Hell, my eyelids were drooping. It was almost six in the morning and I didn't get any sleep. Same goes to Hanji and Irvin. Fuck.

"Thank you very much for coming Hanji, Levi."

"No worries~! Just make sure to take care of him better. I don't know what was wrong but he seemed to be pretty frustrated."

I snorted and exited my game. "He just wants the scent of a woman. He wants someone who smells like his mother." I summarised. I would know. Because I miss your scent a lot too. Some of your clothes have been left in our closet and sometimes I would smell your scent on them. But they are fading, It has been seven years now.

The doctor put a hand to her chin. "Maybe."

I growled and turned over. I didn't care about going home. I was going to get some rest first, even if it did mean having to sleep on a dusty couch.

"You can sleep on that couch, Levi~?!"

"Shut the fuck up shitty-glasses..."

_In the seventh year I was in 'perfect' shape,_

_So today I think I will compare you to something._

_Perhaps you are like extreme ironing,_

_Perhaps you're like a compound inner product shape._

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**Hi guys, sorry I was a day or two late on this. Holidays with the relatives are highly taxing. **

**As usual, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review or follow or favourite if you think this story is worthy of it.  
Also please don't forget to check out my other stories!  
**

**See you guys later! **


	8. Year 8

**Here's another chapter! Thank you all so much for your support! I love reading your reviews and seeing the number of followers increase. -hands out cookies- **

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Chapter 8 – Year 8

_These poems written of my love to you,_

_I've been sending them for 15 years straight. _

_As always there is no reply,_

_And still there is no reply. _

What better way to kickstart one's day than a cup of coffee?

Oh, I know.

How about not getting up at all?

I slammed my fist on the snooze button for the thousandth time that morning. Really, I hate that stupid alarm clock. It never ceases to disturb my dreams of you. Every time that I was going to reach you, I would be snapped back to reality by that thing's insistent ringing.

Finally giving in, I threw the covers off my body and sat up with groggy eyes. I switched off the alarm clock completely by pulling out the batteries. A yawn escaped from my mouth, causing my nose to flinch at the smell. Boy, did I have bad breath after downing alcohol.

Before you get all alarmed, it was just one bottle of Blue Nun's Merlot. Just one. Not twenty. I restrained myself from downing too much of the velvety liquid which burned my throat and warmed my insides. Thank god my metabolism for alcohol in general was abnormally high. I would have had a hangover by now if it wasn't for my tolerance of high alcohol intake.

Swinging my legs off of the bed, I slipped on my slippers and made my way to the bathroom. I needed to get cleaned up, I smell. The first thing that greeted me when I stepped into the room was myself. A reflection to be exact.

My face was pale and my eyes were sunken. Dark eye-bags were position beneath my eyes and stubble lined my chin. My hair was suited to be a bird's nest and there were lines on my forehead from the constant frowning. Not only that, I was getting older. My muscles were not as defined as they used to be, but still toned nonetheless. My skin now not as supple, my hair not as silky smooth. Ah, the side effects of ageing.

What did I expect? It has been eight years. Eight years ago, you disappeared and have never come back since. Not a day went by in these eight years that I have stopped thinking about you. Not a day did I not write you a poem of love.

I did my morning bath routine of rinsing my mouth, brushing, shaving, washing and shampooing. I've been doing this ever since. I picked out an old grey pair of track suit bottoms and a comfy, loose white T-shirt. A piece of toast with butter in my mouth and a bottle of water, I went for my morning jog.

The scenery was the same everyday I used the same path, but it wasn't what one could call boring. Every little thing meant something and one could see that while one jogs. The greenness of the grass which still held clear dewdrops which glistened in the morning sun. The cool morning air which brushed against one's skin and froze one's nose. The soft sunlight beaming down onto the earth. The sound of one's own feet hitting the asphalt. Birds chirping. People talking. Water running. The earth was spinning, every thing was coming to life.

I slowed to a walk as I came near a statue, catching my breath. I circled the moderate sized statue of one of the Shisa's, a Japanese diety. It is said that Shisa's help guard one's home. Plenty of these dog and lion crossbreed can be found in Okinawa, where the belief os Shisa's is strong. They are usually placed in front of the home or on the roofs. They come in pairs, the left one has its mouth closed for good luck and the right one has its mouth open to let the bad luck out. Or so they say.

Speaking of mythological creatures, you had a certain fascination with them. Almost every trip to the bookstore would end up in you buying a book related to these myths, these legends and tales of days old. When I quizzed you on the prime ministers of the world you could not answer a single question correctly. But when asked about the mythological creatures of the world, you could spit out every name with sightings, behaviours and even more details.

Asked you what a 'Murugan' was and you would clam up.

Ask you who was Sarasvati and you would go on and on.

What was the name of the most fearsome pirate? No answer.

What was the name of the most fearsome creature of the seas? The Kraken.

You were weird in you own way, and that was a good way.

I loved you, no matter how weird you were. I love you, no matter how weird you are.

I will always love you.

_Even in the eighth year I didn't change,_

_So today I'll compare you to something._

_Perhaps you're winning all matches in 16 sumo tournaments,_

_Perhaps you're like an AMPA glutamine receptor._

* * *

**A brief note: Next week will be packed for me so I may not be able to update then. I apologize firsthand!  
**

**Hope that you have enjoyed this chapter! Please review, follow or favourite if you have liked this story. Also, please don't forget to check out my other stories! **

**Thank you~!**


	9. Year 9

**First off, I would like to apologize for my tardiness. As I have mentioned in the previous chapter, my week was packed and I did not have sufficient time to post another chapter.  
So, as a treat this chapter is longer and has been more revised!**

**PS: A new story has been posted, "BOOK" which is angst from Eren's side.  
**

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Chapter 9 – Year 9

_These poems written of my love to you,_

_I've been sending them for 15 years straight. _

_As always there is no reply,_

_And still there is no reply. _

My phone beeped, vibrating in the constraints of my pocket. I fished it out, checking the new notification which flashed upon the screen in big black letters on a white canvas.

{You have 3 messages}

I sighed loudly through my nostrils as I tapped on the screen. These days my fame might have rocketed too high. I've been receiving countless calls, messages, texts, invitations, letters, sonnets, comments, criticism, praise, hate mail and proposals from anonymous people all over the globe. It was flattering, yes. But all the more tiring. I could never keep up with them at all.

Every day, I still wrote you a poem. Every day without fail. I supposed it helps me somewhat, to believe that you would read them and somehow be reminded of me. Would somehow come back to me. Would stand in the doorway, jade eyes shining, a bright smile upon your tan face. I wish it would happen. I wish that my poems would reach your heart.

But there is no reply. Nine years. 3287 days. 78888 hours. 4733280 minutes. 283996800 seconds. It has been nine years. Nine years and yet there is not a single reply. Not even a single acknowledgement. I was about to throw in the towel. I mean, let's face it, were you ever coming back? I don't think so.

I don't think so.

You were never coming back, were you? You had left me for good. You did not want to have anything to do with me anymore. You wanted a new lease in life. You wanted something new. You wanted to be rid of me as soon as possible.

I was never ready to say goodbye.

I clutched the piece of plastic in my hand tighter, my knuckles turning white. The thoughts swirled in my head like an angry bee, one that was intent on stinging me. The people who passed me by on the street were no longer human. They were solid objects with random colours, blurred in with the damp grey city scenery. Honks of cars, chit-chat, shuffles of feet rang in my ears. An insistent sound. There were so many kinds of smells. Perfume, cologne, sweat, urine, dirt, detergent. They were poured in a witch's boiling pot, designed to tickle the human nose. Specks of dust could be seen in the harsh afternoon sunlight, dancing in the wind.

Was I never going to see you again?

"_A hundred days have made me older  
Since the last time that I saw your pretty face  
A thousand lies have made me colder  
And I don't think I can look at this the same"_

"_But all the miles that separate  
Disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face"_

I perked up my ears. There it was, that oh-so-familliar song...

"_I'm here without you, baby  
But you're still on my lonely mind  
I think about you, baby  
And I dream about you all the time  
I'm here without you, baby"_

"_But you're still with me in my dreams  
And tonight it's only you and me, yeah."_

You held my hand in yours, tugging me to the dance floor even though I protested. A bright smile graced your features, a hearty laugh filled the empty room. I let myself be pulled to the smooth surface of the dance floor, if it meant being able to be with you. You clumsily tried to waltz, but to no avail. I couldn't hold back the laugh that was escaping my throat.

"_The miles just keep rollin'  
As the people leave their way to say hello  
I've heard this life is overrated  
But I hope that it gets better as we go, oh, yeah, yeah"_

"I'm here without you, baby  
But you're still on my lonely mind  
I think about you, baby  
And I dream about you all the time  
I'm here without you, baby"

"But you're still with me in my dreams  
And tonight, girl, its only you and me"

I gave you a few spins, letting you show off as the music built up in the small room. Your delicious laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in my inner core. I pulled you back in close to me, feeling the warmth radiating from you on my own body. You were ecstatic and your scent was intoxicating. You laughed again in my ear, unwillingly making me laugh too.

"_Everything I know, and anywhere I go (oh whoa)  
It gets hard but it won't take away my love (oh whoa)  
And when the last one falls  
When it's all said and done  
It gets hard but it wont take away my love, whoa, oh, oh"_

"I'm here without you, baby  
But you're still on my lonely mind  
I think about you, baby  
And I dream about you all the time  
I'm here without you, baby"

"But you're still with me in my dreams  
And tonight, girl, it's only you and me"

No more dancing was needed as our lips touched. Hot breaths were mingled. You wrapped your lean arms around my neck for support as I slid my hand into your soft brown locks. I could taste you. I could feel you. I could hold you. And nothing was more perfect than that moment. I wanted it to last forever. I did not want to breathe. I did not need to breathe if that meant that I could be with you, together in that moment forever.

Nothing was more perfect.

_**SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!**_

"...-ake up... Wa-..."

Oh shut up. I'm trying to sleep here.

"Wake up... wake up..."

Wait, who was that? That voice sounded so familiar, but I couldn't recognize it. Who the hell did that voice belong to? It sounded so familiar.

"Wake up! Levi, wake up!"

Levi? Who's Levi? Is he someone I should know? Or are you calling me that? Have you got the wrong person?

"You fucking shorty! Wake up! Wake up, Levi! Wake the fuck up!"

It hurts. It really hurts. My head hurts. I can't feel my arms or my body. But it hurts.

It hurts... My heart hurts...

~.~.~.~

White and sterile was the first thing that came to mind. Everything was blinding white and smelled extremely clean. The ceiling, the walls. There was a fan, spinning leisurely around. I could hear the chirping of birds, though it was faint. A small caress from the wind.

I was tired. So very tired.

"You're awake?"

At the sound of a voice, I tried to turn my head. Unfortunately, it was difficult to move. Every muscle in my body ached and screamed in protest as I tried to move them.

A shock of cerise came into view, contrasting with the whiteness of the ceiling. Then a pair of glasses which hid glassy eyes, a pained yet relieved smile on a tanned face. "Oh, Levi." said the doctor. "You're finally awake!"

I stared at the doctor, stupefied. Levi? That's not my na-... What is my name? Who am I? What was I doing here? What happened to me?

A thousand questions flooded my brain and I must have flailed for the cerise-haired doctor began to hold me down and yelled at me to stop thrashing about. After a few more attempts, I managed to calm my breathing.

"Wh-ere … am I?" my voice was cracked, dry and most of all, foreign. Was this my voice? Was this what it sounded like? This deep voice.

The doctor smiled. "You're in a hospital silly~! Don't tell me that the accident shocked you that much~!" She tapped a finger lightly to her chin in thought. "Well, it's not rare that patients are traumatized after an accident, causing them to be momentarily..."

I held up a shaking hand as best as I could. "Just tell me... who am I?" I was gaining better control of my voice and my body.

The doctor however, seemed to have lost control of hers. It was her turn to stare stupidly at me, mouth agape, eyes filled with disbelief. Her arms hung limp by her sides and I could see that her legs were about to give out underneath her. I just hoped she wouldn't faint.

"Levi you,...You don't remember? You... you d-don't remember me? You don't remember who you are?" There was a hint of a plead in her voice, as if waiting for me to deny it, to say it was all a bad joke.

"I don't."

She audibly gulped. Her throat was as parched as mine had been. Something seemed to snap in her as she regained her composure, stepping back into the role of a doctor. She readjusted her glasses which were placed precariously on the bridge of her nose. "Tell me, what do you remember?"

I racked my brain for something, anything. And that's when I saw it. Soft brown hair, jade green eyes, tanned skin, a lovely smile. My chest tightened and my stomach fluttered.

"Eren."

_On the ninth year I had an accident,_

_Apparently my head suffered from quite a blow._

_And although I had forgotten my own self,_

_I remembered only that I love you. _

* * *

**Thank you for reading everyone! I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! :D**

**Please review/fav/follow, and if you have found this story interesting, please check out my other stories as well!**

**The next chapter might not be posted so fast since I have several competitions coming up, so I apologize in advance. I will try my best to post every week!**

**A/N: This is not the end, oh no. Levi has lost his memories, but that doesn't mean he won't regain them.  
**


	10. Year 10 & 11

Chapter 10 – Year 10 and 11

_These poems written of my love to you,_

_I've been sending them for 15 years straight.  
_

_As always there is no reply,_

_And still there is no reply. _

Everyday was a new day. Everyday I tried to regain my memories. Everyday I was making new ones. And everyday I thought of you.

Last year, I was the main character of a gruesome accident which involved a building on fire, a psychopath, a police officer, a truck and me.

The psychopath set fire to his home and his family that day, the neighbours called the police being the good people they were. A police officer arrived at the burning house to find a man with a knife exiting the house, running to a big truck. There began the chase of truck and panda car. At the exact moment, I was crossing the street when said truck successfully banged into me, crushing most of my bones and giving me a major concussion. The police officer was said to keep on chasing after the truck, capturing the psychopath in the end. The fire brigade in town was alerted, putting out the house fire only to find the corpses of a woman and three little children. My friend, Hanji, the doctor saw what happened and managed to save me within an inch of my life.

But not before I slipped into a fourteen day coma. And lost all of my memories.

Well, all except one.

I remember you. I remember everything about you. I remember your soft brown locks, your jade eyes, your tan skin, your brilliant smile. I remember the way you moved, the way you looked, the way your hands fit with mine. I remember you, Eren.

I remember you.

I lost everything, every memory I ever had. I forgot how my parents looked like, I forgot my friends, I forgot about my home, I forgot about my career and job, I forgot about myself. Although I have a feeling I've never really known myself at all. I forgot my own name, the name that my parents gave me, the name that I've been using all my life.

The doctor with cerise hair, oval glasses and a huge grin helped me mostly. She was one weird doctor. Overjoyed when I nicknamed her 'shitty-glasses'. I found out that she was one of my best friends (how could that even be?). The other was a guy named Irvin who I met later on while still in hospital. He was big and bulky with slicked back blonde hair, stoic face and blue eyes. Blue eyes which watered when he saw me and hugged me in a death grip. I named him 'fuckin' eyebrows' cause his brows were so thick.

They told me all about myself, which was extremely awkward. Or was I the only one feeling that? The other two seemed perfectly at ease. My name was Levi. From what I could see in the mirror, I had silken black hair with an undercut, pale and inhuman skin, piercing silver-grey eyes, I once served in the army when I was younger, which would explain my muscled physique. Hanji said I always worked-out. I lived in a moderate-sized house in this town alone, used to have a black cat called Alice but she was given to another friend called Petra who was also my boss at work.

Speaking of work, I worked as a poet. According to Irvin, I was a genius at writing poetry, especially poems of love. I was famous in the world of literature, more famous than I ever wanted to be. Hanji told me that I ripped the wig off of my old boss before quitting my job as a salaryman. That statement managed to lighted up my mood a bit. She also told me that I was an asshole, which I promptly punched her in the arm for it. Irvin went on, telling me about my success and about how I would write a poem to you each day. That, I remembered.

Hanji and Irvin visited almost everyday during my stay at the hospital. They brought along with them stories, stories about my life. Stories about them, stories about us, stories about you. I loved those the most. Little by little, my memories began to crawl back to me. Through those stories, through the faces and pictures I saw.

Richard, he was the child of Irvin and the bitch he married, Vanessa. My previous boss was Keith, a military-styled man. Hanji was married to Moblit, a person who used to be a respectable working man but was reduced to an alcoholic. Petra, my sweet boss who even came to visit me with Gunther, Auroro, Erd and Mike. Nanaba, the mail boy your age. The pretty blonde girl who asked for my autograph. That old woman who shouted at me when my house was burned down. The friendly hotdog vendor three blocks down the street from where I lived. The neighbour's noisy dog. The orange cat with white patches who would enter my garden. Five sparrows which visited me everyday. The angelfish in my outdoor tank. The dandelions out on my lawn.

Little by little, the memories came back. Small, irrelevant things which brightened my day in the cold walls of the hospital. Sometimes, they are big events, like when I attended Irvin's wedding or when I saw Hanji save the life of a puppy. Sometimes, they were sad memories. The death of my parents, the pain of losing you.

Yet, my memory of you leaving me was fuzzy. Blurred. I couldn't recall exactly what happened, which frustrates me. It frustrates me and tears me up. I don't know, I don't know what I did wrong. I did not know why you left me. I did not know why.

All I wanted was your reply. I kept on writing them, the poems. It took me a while to regain the memories of my words, but when I did, I never stopped writing, Instead, I wrote even more. One, two, three. The number of poems escalated when I was in hospital, filling my recovery time with only thoughts of you.

I wrote and wrote and wrote. I now know why there are so many callouses on my fingers. The words that flowed from the pen, the inking of paper, all so familiar.

I love you Eren, I would never forget you.

* * *

**And that's a wrap for this chapter! Hope that you have enjoyed it!**

**I'm going for several competitions this week and the next, so please forgive me if my updates are late. **

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**Until next time!**


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